


Home Soon Forgotten

by CakeAndCrows



Category: Poetry - Fandom, poem - Fandom
Genre: Home, Homesick, Other, Poetry, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23391046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CakeAndCrows/pseuds/CakeAndCrows
Summary: A poem about my childhood home. I wrote this a few years before my parents announced they were gonna sell it. Called it, I guess.





	Home Soon Forgotten

This  
Is the road my mom and dad brought me down  
When Liz was seven, Danielle was ten,  
And I was three.

This   
Is road that has been gravel for decades;  
Far more time than my body has existed. My young feet have splashed in mauve sludge from the lakes that come after the rain.  
The craters return each spring with the tulips.

This  
Is the ranch-style house that was built in the 80’s,  
bought in the 90’s, and will probably be left by us  
sometime between the 10’s and 20’s. 

Its walls retain no sound, except those from the outside, like the family of woodpeckers that  
reside in the wall beside my bed.  
I pound all morning but they never hear me.  
Shut up. I scream at them, shut up, damn it!

But they have lived here so much longer  
than I could dream to be true. Their ancient household  
was born right out of the trees in my yard.

This  
Is the place where I played alone and fed real food to fleshless mouths, plastic faces. All the attempts I made to  
understand a hunger that just didn’t exist, happened here.

I have lived a thousand lives   
here   
and never aged a second past my ninth birthday.  
The trees still swoon when the wind caresses them,  
and groan when I swing on their branches.

When we are all gone, all flown high and far from the nest,  
the pock-marks on the ceiling will remain uncounted,   
the scuffs in the linoleum will continue to cling to the ground.   
The house will breathe deeply; full with memory.


End file.
